


For Loving You

by orphan_account



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Chelsea Wolfe, Color of Blood, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 14:04:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4831859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robb Stark had been the first one to call her a lady in a lifetime. In another life she had been the proud granddaughter of the triarch of the tigers, and yet now she was a field nurse, covered in mud and blood and falling in love with a man she should not fall in love with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Loving You

A hunger never satisfied 

Talisa could feel his eyes on her, watching her, every other minute. He watcher her, stalked her like hunted prey, and she had never felt so helpless and so powerful. His eyes traced her steps, devouring every slight movement, as she walked from one place to another, busying herself with healers tasks. The milk of the poppy she had been found at the crag, the maester kindly allowing her free reign over his stores, had helped so many already, but still she saved every last drop. Every time she held one of the vials, she unconsciously, often unwillingly, thought of him, and his blatant hunger. She could see it in his eyes, echoing through his mannerisms, but he gave no voice and no action to such thoughts. 

I can't keep you off my mind

Did she want his company? she wondered. Did she intentionally throw herself in his path, just to feel his gaze on her? Perhaps they both sought each other, even if they did not admit it to themselves. He was never far from her thoughts, even as she stitched wounds together, or bandaged festering cuts, Robb Stark loomed in the shadows of her mind like an inevitable doom. Except, Talisa could hardly think of him as a doom. Even as her musings came to form, there was still a sadness on them, a plague of reality straining whatever relations they had. Whoever suffered the doom of being by his side would live as the happiest woman to exist, but still Talisa denied she envied the girl he was to marry. 

Why was he always there? If he was not talking to her, inquiring after the wounded or herself, he was to the edge of her vision, talking with this lord or that soldier, and if he was altogether he was still in her thoughts. 

Dancing, moving, passing time

It was like a dance, a small impersonal game, that the pair seemed internally locked it. By now, all his banner men had noted his distraction, some had even come to accept the Young Wolf's inherent interest in her, even if they didn't welcome it, and just wished he'd get on with it. But no, the King would never do such a thing. Robb had been firm in his resolution, he would not pursue the Lady Talisa, it would be advisable to not even associate himself with her. He could not severe the ties, however, no matter how strong he was, and he continued to jump and turn around his feelings, merely giving encouragement to them. Weaning himself off the illicit drug that was her presence only fanned the fire raging within. 

Lost worlds and endless nights

He would lay awake at night, depraved of the peacefulness of slumber. Sometimes he would hardly sleep, other times not at all, and all because his thoughts were still on what had once been and what could never be. On Winterfell, and on her. In the darker hours he had at a time thought only of his childhood, of his family, and felt the keen anger of one who had those precious things stolen. Now, his thoughts would be of her, wondering about things he would never know. The feel of her skin, her mouth, her hair, her naked form against his own, all things he would never, and should never, know. He was to marry another, after all. 

He dreamed of her, of her laughter, of her teasing, of her eyes so bright with intelligence and aspirations, and of her perfect body pressed against his. 

I held you at a distance then

In the thin, constricting canvas walls of her tent, Talisa had concluded her baser instincts drew her to him, and possibly the higher feelings, the ones that sought security and companionship, and she feared both with all the energy of a girl petrified of her own heart. She avoided him, despite the aches it caused her, the ones not even the milk of the poppy could subdue. She didn't ask the head healer, the leader of the travelling band of healers and silent sisters, to be sent off to the Lannister camps. Not yet, there was no true need, and there would be none in the future. Not if she was determined to keep these walls around her. 

Her determination faltered only when she heard the news that circulated around the camp, whispers of Winterfell, the betrayal of a friend and the murder of children. He needed someone to talk to, and she knew him well enough to know he would not go to his mother for comfort, and his one of banner men would be impossible. So she made her way to his tent, her intentions innocent and all together kind.

So I could keep you sacred now

She excused herself when she caught herself babbling about her brother, of her life in Volantis, the life she had left behind her in the dust, the life she was barred from ever living again. And she saw his expression, the desire on his face so undeniably present she felt her heart skip a beat and her skin tingle.

"I don't want to marry the Frey girl." Robb told her, eyes searching hers for any sign of mutual feelings, desperate to find something in their emotive depths. Her heart rose into her throat, blood flooding through her entire body. 

"I don't want you to marry her either." The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, spilling out with the relief she felt at the confirmation of his feelings. She knew he wanted her, but she had hardly dared hoped that he could wish for her heart. "I hope it's a very beautiful bridge." His lips claimed her own in a hungry kiss, latching onto her very soul and capturing her in inescapable chains. 

I watched the veins under my skin moving, changing from blue to red 

She was a healer, she was a commoner, in this part of Westeros her family name meant little to nothing, and she had next to no regrets on the subject. She was free, free of social leashes, free of her families iron fist, free of the horrors she would be forced to watch others endure. Not everyone was free in Westeros, but those who were chained were comfortably shackled, unlike the slaves and women of the free cities. The western lands were freer than the free cities, how laughable was that?

Those colours battle to repent

Robb Stark had been the first one to call her a lady in a lifetime. The headstrong healer had once been Talisa granddaughter of Malaquo, Head of the Family Maegyr, but that time was gone, and the only instance she ever wished it back was so that there might not be such a difference between them. A Volantene Lady and a Westerosi King were very, very different, but less so then a common healer. As the granddaughter of the Triarch, Lord of the Tigers, perhaps it was not as impossible. But, that madness hastily passed. As Lady Talisa she would have been married by now, probably had a child by now, and trapped in a loveless marriage in which the only escape was death, either her husbands or her own. She knew women who had chosen the former with a cold, sadistic pleasure, and others who's melancholy fates were honoured as the tragedies of the century. 

Fighting some kind of punishment

No, the lords did not hate her because their king had an interest in her and she was a commoner, though that did not help matters. They hated her because she was not a Frey, because she was not a simpering, submissive girl with pallid conversation and pale beauty. She was opinionated, and worst still she was vocal about her opinions, and disagreed with so many of their illusions about the world, of the nature of man. She would never be good enough for them, no matter how hard she tried, and so she had resolved not to attempt it. 

For loving you

She loved him, she loved him as the birds love the sky and the fish the sea. She could not even lie to herself about it, even if she had lied to everyone else. She needed him, and her heart depended on him returning those feelings, now that there was a chance he did. It seemed impossible for him to only have an interest in her, for him not to return her feelings, as he kissed her, adoring and ignorant hands caressing her. She would love him forever, even if she never saw him again in the course of the world. She would be broken, shattered in two, if that was what came to be, and her heart would never mend, she would never love another. 

Less than a year ago she had thought she was not destined to love anyone, possibly incapable of it, and she had known from a young age that none could love her, either. Men did not love their wives, and she was always meant to be a wife. Wives were there to raise mens children, whores were their for mens pleasure, and paramours were there for companionship, for love and for friendship. As a young girl Talisa had posed the foolish question of why lords did not marry the women they loved, and her innocent and valid question was met with laughter from her all knowing elder cousins. 

Still, she had fallen in love with one of the few men in the world who would not have a relationship outside of wedlock, and she prepared herself for the agony she was to experience even as her breathing shallowed at his side, watching his perfect face drift into sleep. 

The deathless tell me go on, stay low

The morning was foggy when she slipped out the back of the tent, through a sword made tear in the canvas that she suspected Robb was responsible for, and Talisa regretted not bringing her cloak. It was so cold, her simple dress offering no protection, and all she wanted to do was run back, to cast aside her dreaded garbs and curl into his embrace once more, to fall asleep and be content in the unknown. That, however, was not a luxury the gods gave her. 

She had known what she must do when she found herself in his arms, brought to the morning by his slight movements. He did not care for her in the way she thought of him, and to remain at his side would be an insult to both their families, to his own nature, and to the Freys. No one could forget the Freys. Feeling stupid, and completely naïve, the anguish of reality caught up with her, but the tears did not come. She would not allow them, not until she was in her shared tent, and when she reached the cramped shelter she did not have the opportunity to. There was so much to do, and she was not allowed the privacy in which to express her anguish. Cerissa, her tent mate, was awake and had been for sometime. 

Grow old and let your hair grow  
"Someone didn't come back last night." She observed, though neither of them had occupied their allocated tent that night. Talisa merely snorted at the hypocritical statement, busying herself with combing through her hair, untangling all the knots he had made. She had worn it in a long braid, but as they lay in each others arms he had toyed with it long enough for her to sigh and pull her hair free for him, and he had given enough attention to it for her to feel a sinking ache in her stomach as she untangled the remnants of his affections. 

In sleep there is no sorrow 

Robb Stark was an early riser. He had been since he was a child, and was unable to lounge about in bed doing nothing if he was awake, needing something to occupy his thoughts. So, when he awoke at a later hour than he was accustomed to (even if his lords will still not rising he still considered himself late) he understood that something was not right. The fact that he was lying naked on the floor was testimony to this. 

He prepared for the day in a delirious haze, the night before returning to his mind in full force the moment he rose, and struggled to keep his mind on battle tactics and political manoeuvring when he was a metre or so away from where had and Talisa had lain. A secretive, rare and immature grin crossed his face, knowing that Bolton would not be very pleased that he was seated right over the spot. When the meeting was adjourned, he waited all of three seconds to see his mother, though it pained him to think of her at this point. The only other person he could trust to give him counsel at this point was Talisa, and he imagined she would be biased in the matter. It was about whether or not he should marry her, after all. 

Slowly prolonging a cruel fate

He knew what his mother would say, just as he knew what he would do. Catelyn had enough patience to acknowledge that his heart was true, but that the love he felt was not as strong as the one he might find in another specific wife. It was difficult to hear, but Robb knew enough to understand that he needed to hear it, he needed to hear the repercussions and the dangers of marrying for love. He still believed her wrong, however. A dark fate awaited him, that his mother was now certain of, as he sealed his doom.

For loving you

The way he felt about Talisa... He had never felt that way about anyone before. It wasn't just attraction, or the excitement of forbidden romance, as he knew his mother thought it. This was the strongest of feelings he had ever felt, and it was a force to be reckoned with. Nothing would stop him, not even the Freys and their unsavoury natures. She was the woman he loved, would always love, and the idea of marrying anyone else, bedding anyone else, was preposterous. 

He checked no one was looking his way before discreetly travelling down to the side of the camp where the wounded and their healers abided. Many knew his face, but few walked amidst the tents as evening approached, too preoccupied with campfire tales, meat and what little beer they could obtain, so he was safe in that regard. The only thing that marked him beyond another shadowy figure was the lack of a swagger, a confident, almost arrogant, saunter down the rows that resounded with the words youth and soldier. He looked almost humble, truly, walking up with heart in his hand to pose the question of a lifetime to the love of his life.

They hear everything

Word would soon spread, Robb did not expect more than a day of quiet before all of the Riverlands was made aware of his so called ‘blunder’, his immature foolishness in lust that emphasised what he had been supposedly fighting to disprove, that he was just a boy playing at war. They said women were the gossipers, but nothing entertained men about campfires like intrigue and already his attention to Talisa had been talked of at length. With that knowledge, he took precautions when locating a willing septon, a septon that did not know too much and did not ask too many questions. 

In the eyes of the septon they were just a northern lordling and a camp follower or healer, deliriously in love. Robb almost wished he was just another lords son, wished that his life was so much simpler and happier - but then who would be the Young Wolf?

They glow with their own light

He still had a chance at happiness, however. She stood before him, glowing with life and looking every inch the wonderful woman he had come to know. There was so much he did not know about her, and so much she knew about him, but that hardly mattered when he felt his heart swell. She was the only one who had ever succeeded in causing that reaction. 

Talisa had been prepared to leave, to leave and let everything be as it had been before, if that were possible. She had not let any hope kindle in her of him stopping her, but when she busied herself with rearranging her belongings Talisa had sensed more than heard someone enter the tent, and immediately knew it was him. No one could electrify the atmosphere quite like he could. And then he had more begged than requested for her hand in marriage, and the tears she had not allowed to overcome her did, indeed, come as she threw her arms about him. He kissed all her tears away, his eyes reflecting her own in their feelings - uncertainty at what would happen next, uncertainty about it all being real, but certainty of the fact they loved each other and that they could make it work. 

They sing out your name, a thousand times a night

The septon didn't even imagine he was marrying the King in the North to a Volantene healer until the news spread and found his ears. Even then, he was in disbelief. Surely he had not met the Young Wolf, the savage beast that murdered his enemies at will? Surely that had not been the man that looked at his newly proclaimed wife with more devotion and love than any other? From his remnants of a sept at Oxcross he had heard the thundering clamour of battle, and the chant the northmen boomed - ‘THE KING IN THE NORTH!’

Songs would be written about him, though the type of tale dramatically changed in the future, ballads hummed about the land for centuries. He would earn a considerable page in a history book, be recognised as one of the many claimants for the Iron Throne (as people assumed his intentions were). The septon was in denial. 

Generations of sadness, inbred and underfire

Talisa had not considered children or a husband an option for so much of her life, and it felt almost impossible when it dawned on her that not only was she married but she would most certainly have children - and soon, if the gods were good, war was a dangerous time, after all. Now, their sweat soaked bodies entangled on his bed, breathing heavy and hearts pounding, she even looked forward to it, to children with him. It was one of the few duties of wife she, now, genuinely appreciated, the prospect of mothering the offspring of the man she loved, another being what would lead to the procreation of said children. He would be a good father, she thought as she looked on his face, and feeling her gaze he opened his eyes just a little. 

As a younger girl, knowing what marriage meant, she had blatantly refused to enter into such a situation, even going as far as to be outright unpleasant at social gatherings in order to avoid unwanted interest. She didn't need to do a lot of acting, she was neither submissive or meek, which made her undesirable. Now, her family instincts fitting into place when faced with a struggle of survival, she could be reserved when she needed to be. With Robb, however, she had never felt the need to restrain her opinions or her feelings. It was a good feeling. 

In a thousand languages

She found herself mumbling, in a daze of sorts as he whispered beautiful words in her ear. Words that no lady should hear, and he had always treated her as a lady, but his lustful murmurings powered her blood, sent her pulse beating and limbs throbbing. In such times, Talisa could not think with a clear enough head to translate her words - and she didn't have an extensive vocabulary when the words she needed were concerned. So, if Robb heard her small cries and detected words amidst the longing moans and desperate pants, he would not understand her. However, he had a very good idea of what she was saying, which was delicious encouragement for him. 

A word for this desire

Love was too short a word. Both came to that conclusion early on. Even in the Volantene dialect it was not given justice, although Robb adored his wife's mother tongue already. When he had asked what it is, her head resting over his heart and their arms and legs entangled, drifting slowly into sleep, she had replied only once, ignoring his request for a repeat. He silently vowed to wrangle it out of her again, maybe in a more persuasive manner. 

Love or it's many translations simply couldn't summarise their relationship, their eternal bond that would hold them together threw the turmoils of a war torn world. 

For loving you


End file.
